The Last Gift

pa-rum pum pum pum

birds took to air

eight maids ran home

seven Princes went out to sea

ten leaping lords

danced nine ladies round

and five rings rang out the decree 

pa-rum pum pum pum 

through piper’s drone

a woman unveiled

her nom de plume set them free

none other than she

the fair Stephanie!

it was she that had set them free 

pa-rum pum pum pum 

the drum corps’ heart

beat around Truelove

it marched him away from the scene

a partridge chuffed

then flit to her roost

once more in the blooming pear tree

The Wanderer's Wonder

What lies beneath?
The plaid kilts swinging
While heads down
Not revealing
Eleven pipers stave off
Truelove

Dash Away, Cupid!

silk strewn

in ballroom’s midst

women whisper to ten

tall Lords, knee deep in the softness

"Spring forth!"

On, Dancer!

Veiled in the mist, a woman

Gathering milkmaids to drink

The moon’s water

Solemn lake’s distribution

Seven swans molting, their wake

Morning's dew

Nesting geese lay golden eggs

Signets intertwine with rue

Diadems march

Birds and slaves, comrades-in-arms

Trothed to reveal a tyrant

Pyrus blooms

Truelove’s lair, unsuspecting

Nine ladies dancing gaily

Flames in the pit

Where have all the young maids gone?

Rich butter and cream dressed in crystal

Belie eight kept maids, kerchiefs to flanks

Hands warm teats o'er steaming shackled pails

The tangs of crisscrossing streams in tin

At Midnight

beneath swans who swim,
seven princes dance in white
the lake's reflection

the silent figures...
glissando illusion marks
the surface of truth

Now, what is the crime?
A kidnapping? A foul theft?
Truelove knows no bounds.

In the Lady's Chamber

preferred
was the foie gras
or goose down comforter
to the half-a-dozen layers
of geese

The Diary of Mrs. Truelove: Day 5 of Christmas

He gave to me a ring inscribed:

“My first and only true...”

‘Twas so, until I held the next,

It’s vow said: “Only you."

The third began to ring unclear

with “Stephanie,” his “one true dear,”

and then the fourth, when icy pressed,

between embittered fallen breasts:

“Truelove will always love you best!”

Now see the fifth, another gold...

His gleaming eyes…

It’s getting old...

B-R-R-R-ing!

…in the Sheaves

they are calling

but no one hears...

Flics question Truelove

regarding four birds

his story ringing

while he sows, shadows

chill the grieving kin

waiting for answers

Trois, the Night Before...

chiming, the clocks
strike the charmed
investigations
missing French hens 
suspection of Truelove

After the First Day of Christmas...

mourning takes place
woo-OO-oo-oo-oo
a roost and Partridge Family
gone
two friends are bound
to follow
a non-sunshine day

Before the First Day of Christmas

café au lait
bespeckled eggs
laid out in lavender with pears